


Summer's in the Air

by emij1s



Series: Turn Forever Hand in Hand [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday Sex, Facials, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Shrunkyclunks, Steve Rogers's Birthday, Twink!Bucky, cap!steve - Freeform, happy birthday steve rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 06:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emij1s/pseuds/emij1s
Summary: It’s a rare thing to even get Bucky out of bed before the sun is well in the sky, and an impressive feat, one that Bucky could probably never achieve on his own. It takes teamwork, and patience, and a whole lot of Steve gently bullying him through it.But not this morning.This morning is different.





	Summer's in the Air

**Author's Note:**

> This work takes place in the same universe as the previous installments in the series, but you by no means have to read them to understand this.

Bucky isn’t a morning person.

He and his alarm clock get into fights daily, and he’s almost thrown his phone across the room more than once. When Steve has to wake him, there have been threats shouted that would make the neighbors consider calling the cops, if they could hear.

He does his best to avoid morning classes, and last semester when he’d been forced to take one, he’d been ready to physically fight his teacher just about once a week until Steve talked him down.

When he does have to get up early, it starts with at least twenty minutes of Bucky pouting and grumbling while checking his phone. His hair is wild, tousled and the very definition of bedhead, and his little face is so scrunched, lips pursed, brows furrowed until he finally drags himself up and leaves the blankets in a heap, whining and complaining the whole time.

(Steve thinks he’s the cutest then, not that he would ever say anything about it - calling Bucky cute when he’s angry will just win him the silent treatment until the afternoon, and that’s the last thing Steve wants. He wants Bucky happy and smiling and giving him his attention, not grumpy and smacking his hands away when they try to wrap around that trim waist and pull him close. So Steve keeps his opinions to himself.)

Bucky makes his way to the bathroom then, brushes his teeth and washes his face with three different creams that it seems only he understands. Then he rubs in a lotion that he insists is important and Steve only likes because it makes Bucky smell nice, and it’s off to the kitchen for coffee that usually Steve has prepared for him.

It’s a rare thing to even get him out of bed before the sun is well in the sky, and an impressive feat, one that Bucky could probably never achieve on his own. It takes teamwork, and patience, and a whole lot of Steve gently bullying him through it.

But not this morning.

This morning is different.

This morning has an alarm that wakes Bucky up at five fifteen, and he’s up immediately, shutting it off so it doesn’t disturb Steve. The big tower of muscle next to him sighs, and the arm around his waist squeezes gently, tugging his back against that chest of his. This presents a problem that Bucky might have forgotten to prepare for - extracting himself from what he affectionately calls Steve’s ‘octopus grip.’ He doesn’t have much time, Steve’s alarm goes off at six every morning, so he tries to make it quick, but it’s still five twenty by the time he actually makes it out of bed.

Bucky casts a glance to the bed again, watches as Steve rolls onto his back and huffs in his sleep, and can’t help a tired smile.

The sheets are low on Steve’s waist, tossed down to try to avoid the July heat, but neither of them can sleep without _something_ over the top of them. The grey cotton is wrapped around Steve’s hips, pinned beneath him and hiked up around his thighs, leaving very little to the imagination. It almost makes him want to abandon his plan and curl right back up, crawl down the bed until he can settle between those legs of Steve’s and get his mouth on him, tease and kiss and lick his way up until Steve’s moaning and hard beneath him--

But no. It’s a special day, and there’s a reason Bucky’s up before the goddamn sun - he has pancake ingredients stashed away in the kitchen and a secret bakery order being kept fresh in the back of the fridge for later, hidden behind his numerous six packs for the festivities today. They’ve taken over the roof of Stark Tower for the party this evening, but it doesn’t start until five this afternoon, leaving plenty of time for Bucky to have a good day with Steve before his friends get a hold of him.

It’s five thirty two when he gets out of the bathroom, and he’s a little behind schedule. He finds clothes quickly and quietly, tugging on a pair of tight briefs and then swiping some of Steve’s pajama pants - lightweight and comfortable, and just this side of too big, just enough to tease down and show the Calvin Klein waistband hidden beneath.

He knows what Steve likes, after all, and he’s shameless when it comes to showing off.

Five thirty seven finds him entering the kitchen and opening the cabinets quietly. There’s no Bisquick in this house, not for today, and he pulls out the flour and baking powder first. Bucky isn’t the best cook, but years of making breakfast for his little sister means he can do the basics, at the very least. Pancakes won’t take long, and soon he’s got a batter, smooth and rich and ready to be poured into the pan.

He’s hoping that it’ll be Steve’s alarm that wakes him up, so does his best to be quiet, bustling around the kitchen barefoot and trying to not slam the cabinets and drawers. Still, there’s not a lot he can do about the smell of blueberry pancakes cooking, and so by five fifty two he hears shuffling in the bedroom. He smiles, and he’s got just enough time to get a plate set up before he hears the door open.

The plate is gorgeous, if Bucky does say so himself. A stack of thick pancakes rests in the center, with strawberries sliced artfully and placed right in what would be the corner if Steve was a logical human being and preferred waffles like Bucky does. There’s a thick pad of butter resting on the top, but more spread between the cakes, because unlike _some people,_ Bucky knows how to properly flavor the food.

He’d seen a pinterest tip of laying a piece of lace over the food and then shaking the powdered sugar over it, but it hadn’t worked, so instead there’s a healthy smattering of the stuff all over the plate, and Bucky’s decided that it looks nice enough. He’s warmed up some syrup and poured it into a ceramic pourer, and the cherry on top of the whole thing is the writing he oh so carefully piped on top of the pancakes in chocolate - _Happy Birthday Stevie._

It’s a pretty impressive Birthday spread, if you ask Bucky.

There’s some toast popping up that he grabs and butters and puts some strawberry jam on, set to the side on another plate, and also an orange that he peels and tries his best to arrange prettily, but he can hear footsteps leaving the bedroom, and before he can put the whipped cream around the edges of the pancakes, there’s arms wrapping around him.

“You’re up early,” Steve says, his voice rough and gravelly, and Bucky can’t help but smile.

“I thought I’d try out this whole morning thing,” he says back, leaning into Steve’s chest, his grin widening when he feels a prickly face tucking into his neck and kissing at his skin. “Stop,” he laughs, “c’mon, I worked hard this morning. Go sit down.” Despite never wanting to leave Steve’s arms, Bucky steps away and wiggles until Steve groans and releases him.

“Okay, okay,” Steve agrees, “but only because I smell food.” It earns him an eyeroll, and Bucky only turns when he’s sure that Steve is sitting.

God, but Steve’s so gorgeous.

Soft and sleep rumpled, with a pair of boxers thrown on and nothing else, Steve looks so perfect. His eyes are that same familiar blue, gentle and amused and focused right on Bucky, and Bucky can’t help but pause for a moment when all that focus is on him. It’s overwhelming sometimes, the intensity with which Steve eyes him, but God, Bucky loves it - he’s always been a fan of attention, and Steve’s is his favorite kind.

Still, he blushes a little, walking to the table. “Quit lookin’ at me like that,” he grumbles, setting the tray down in front of Steve and moving to make him a coffee. He’s caught before he can, a large hand gently wrapping around his wrist and guiding him closer. He’s leaning over their small round kitchen table now, the sun rising and peeking orange and pink through the curtains.

“Like what?” Steve asks, and a smile teases over his pretty pink mouth, and Bucky just wants to kiss it away. Instead he scoffs and gently pushes off of the table where he’s planted his free palm. It makes the little wooden thing shake slightly, but the tray stays in place, so Bucky’s fine with it. He bites his lips, and then gives into temptation the smallest bit - he leans in and brushes his lips against Steve’s forehead before pulling away. Steve releases his wrist and lets him go, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes Bucky think it’s mostly because his boyfriend is humoring him for now.

“Eat,” he tells him instead of answering, and goes to make Steve’s coffee. Finally, Steve seems to look down at the tray, and from the catch of breath, Bucky knows he’s actually seen his birthday breakfast.

“Aw, Buck,” Steve says, fond and amused, and Bucky smirks. “You made pancakes?”

“You’re damn right I did,” he shoots back, and he tosses Steve a judgemental look over his shoulder, but his smile makes the heat of it melt away. “I’ve also been practicing piping words for over a week, so you better appreciate that beautiful penmanship.” Steve laughs loudly, and as if to make a point, swipes a slice of strawberry through the curly tail of the _y_ in happy.

“It’s beautiful,” he says after stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, and Bucky makes a playfully disgusted sound before finishing up the coffee and setting it down before grabbing his own plate of waffles.

They eat quickly, Steve scarfing down his large platter and his toast and his coffee, and Bucky’s smaller plate of pancakes is gone just as quick - Bucky goes to take away the dishes, but Steve waves him away.

“C’mere,” Steve prompts, and Bucky listens, rounding the table and letting Steve’s hands find his bare sides. His large palms rub up and down, drawing a soft hum out of him, and Bucky lays his arms over Steve’s shoulders.

“Is it time for dessert yet?” Steve asks, raising a brow, and Bucky chuckles.

“Dessert after breakfast? Not sure I’ve ever heard of that before,” he says dryly, and Bucky groans.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he wheedles, and Bucky raises a brow at him. Sometimes Steve can act like a child, and it’s adorable - he loves it when Steve wants him bad enough that he just huffs and whines. Steve will always, always listen to Bucky, will always take no as an answer if Bucky really means it, and because of that Bucky loves it when Steve asks, when he looks at him with those eyes and his full lower lip pushed out and his stubbly face is so pleading and sweet and -

How can Bucky ever tell him no?

Still, he pretends to consider it, before he sighs and leans down, kissing Steve deep and slow. His hands slide up into Steve’s hair, tugging gently, and Steve groans against his lips. They move together, a familiar rhythm, and Bucky pulls back all too soon.

“Just this once,” he allows, and then he drops down to his knees, barely suppressing a smug look when Steve’s eyes widen.

“Buck--”

“Hush.” Bucky tells him, and he shuffles forward, thin pajama pants not much protection from the hard tile of the kitchen floor on his knees, but it’ll have to do; he’s not about to stand up and go change, not when he sees the way Steve’s looking at him, wide eyed and lips parted, like he can’t believe his luck.

It makes something warm coil in Bucky’s stomach, and it’s like a kind slap in the face, if such a thing exists. Steve looks at him like he put all the stars in the sky, and the love that makes Bucky feel towards him can get a little overwhelming.

He doesn’t look too deep into it - it’s not even six thirty yet, and he had a goal in mind. Bless that serum of Steve’s, because the moment Bucky had gotten on his knees, he’d seen a bulge in the front of Steve’s boxers, and that makes this so much easier. Bucky leans in, eyes trained up on Steve’s face, and kisses his cock through the fabric. It earns him a quiet little grunt, and he hums, breathes warm over Steve, just to get him to let out a shaky sigh, and then he gets to work.

He teases his mouth over Steve, licks his lips and sucks gently at the fabric of his boxers. Steve is warm through them, thick and hard and large, and Bucky can’t help but let his eyes flutter closed. He loves this, loves getting to make Steve feel good, and when he looks up and catches sight of Steve’s cheeks pinking up beneath his stubble, he can’t help the way his heart thumps hard in his chest.

“Buck,” Steve says again, voice dropped low and honey smooth, and Bucky arches a brow while mouthing over him, hands finding his large thighs and pushing them gently apart.

“What?” he asks, pulling off for just a moment, just long enough to drag his hands up slow and feel goose bumps break out beneath his fingertips. “I’m a little busy here, Stevie.” Steve groans softly and lets his head tip back the smallest bit when Bucky leans in and teases the waistband of his boxers down, kissing the trail of hair leading down from his navel. “Can’t you hush and lemme make you feel good?”

Steve huffs quietly, and a hand slides down, pushing back Bucky’s wild hair. “I could,” he murmurs, “or I could tell you what I want. I know how me talkin’ like that gets to you, sweetheart.”

Bucky acts like he’s considering it, rolling his tongue over his lips, still pulling Steve’s boxers until finally Steve lifts his hips enough to ease them around his knees. “You could,” Bucky agrees, “or you could shut up and let me get my mouth on your cock.” Steve’s dick twitches right in front of Bucky’s face, and Bucky can’t help it; he leans in and licks a stripe, slow and teasing, up the underside, to a chorus of badly muffled moans from Steve. “I’ve got plans this morning, and I’d really like it if you just let me get through them. Okay?” Steve focuses back on Bucky, breathing heavier.

“Lemme hear ‘em. These plans of yours,” Steve drawls out, and Bucky smiles.

“You want me to tell you how I wanna take your cock, Stevie?” Bucky asks innocently, and Steve’s breath catches. Bucky doesn’t give him a chance to reply, just keeps going, dragging his mouth along all that soft skin as he talks, letting Steve feel the vibration of his voice as his lips kiss and rub all over his dick. “You wanna know how I’m gonna suck you, take you all the way in til you can see it in my throat, let you fuck my mouth, just fuckin’ grab my hair and _take me_ til you come?”

Steve visibly shudders, and his cock is wet at the head; Bucky drags his tongue over it and gives a little moan, closing his lips around it and sucking teasingly before pulling off with a pop.

“Only thing is,” he murmurs, and he nuzzles Steve’s cock, squeezing his thighs. Steve’s panting above him now, red in the face, hand in Bucky’s hair pushing through restlessly and his free hand squeezing the arm of the chair. “Only thing is. I’m not gonna let you come in my mouth.” Bucky raises his eyes again, staring right into Steve’s, blue to blue.

“Instead I’m gonna let you paint my face. Get me filthy and covered in it, Stevie, until I’m staring up at you all teary eyed and smiling and covered in your come. You want it?” Bucky asks, breathless himself now, shifting restlessly on his knees. “Tell me.”

“I want it,” Steve whispers, and Bucky grins brilliantly, leaning up and kissing him hard before falling back down again.

“Then you’ll get it,” Bucky whispers, and he closes his mouth over Steve’s cock again, moaning softly. He sets the pace at first, moving slow and teasing, rocking up and down Steve’s cock and dragging his tongue all over, wet and warm and slow, but Steve’s fingers tighten in his hair and pull, and soon Steve’s setting the pace.

Maybe Bucky might protest Steve taking control every now and then, but not this morning, not when he can focus his gaze up and see Steve’s expression, blissed out and disbelieving and staring right at Bucky again, with that same damn look, like the world starts and ends where Bucky stands.

It makes Bucky moan loud and high around Steve, and Steve’s hips punch up at the same time Steve’s hand pulls him down harshly. Bucky’s eyes roll back, and he stops moving, lets Steve take control of the situation, and soon Bucky’s gripping Steve’s thighs tightly, feeling an ache in his jaw and he’s made to take Steve’s cock, thick and hard and god so _good_ over and over.

He’s making desperate little sounds in his throat like he’s struggling, and he is, but it’s his favorite kind of struggle, the kind that brings tears to his eyes and makes his lashes clump together and makes it hard to breathe, makes his head go all light and airy while he gets to see Steve with his head thrown back, moaning loud, hearing a chorus of his own name over and over again, then seeing that piercing blue when Steve looks back at him, like he can’t believe Bucky’s real, that Bucky’s doing this for him, that Bucky’s _his._

Bucky may be the one getting fucked, but that look tells Bucky all he needs to know; he may be Steve’s, but in this moment, Steve would do anything for Bucky, anything to have him, to feel him, to get pleasure that only Bucky can give, and if that isn’t the most insane thing Bucky’s ever heard, he doesn’t know what is.

It’s not long before Steve’s thrusts get harsher and his breathing gets wilder. His hand in Bucky’s hair begins to hurt faintly, pulling harder and rougher until Bucky has to make a soft sound to let him know he gets it; Steve is close, and before Bucky can brace himself, he’s being pulled off, Steve’s cock leaving his throat and his mouth empty as his hand shakily grabs it, strokes once, twice--Bucky barely has time to close his eyes before the load hits his face, making him gasp. It hits his cheek, across the bridge of his nose, spiderwebs over his right eye and makes him flinch, and then Steve presses the head to Bucky’s mouth again, parting his lips and making him taste the last jets across his tongue.

Bucky moans, makes a show of it, hangs his mouth open so Steve can see the white coating his tongue and blinks his left eye open, staring up at him and breathing harshly, then closes his mouth and swallows noisily. Steve makes a strangled sound, and Bucky can’t help but smile, right eye still closed.

He’s filthy, just like he’d promised, gasping for breath like he’s run a damn marathon. His eyes are wet, a few tears having escaped from the rough treatment, but he’s absolutely beaming up at Steve.

“Not bad for a hundred year old man,” Bucky says, voice scratchy and thick, and Steve gives a winded laugh. Bucky can’t help but laugh too, and before they know it, they’re both laughing in the kitchen, and the sun’s shining brightly through their gauzy curtains, casting the room in a warm, bright glow that promises a beautiful day.

When they sober up, Steve grabs a napkin off the table in front of him and gently helps Bucky clean off his face. Bucky carefully opens his right eye again, cautious, but it goes fine, and soon he’s beaming up at Steve. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey yourself,” Steve replies, smiling happily, looking satisfied and content.

“Happy one hundredth birthday,” Bucky says fondly, leaning up again, and he kisses Steve sweetly, lingering on his lips. Steve kisses him back, wrapping his arms around Bucky, and then abruptly lifting him - Bucky squeals out a laugh, and Steve smiles into it, settling Bucky on his lap.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Steve says, nosing at Bucky’s temple. He glances at the clock over Bucky’s shoulder and smirks. It's not even seven yet. They still have plenty of time. “What do you say we head back to the bedroom?” he suggests, and he gives a ridiculous eyebrow wiggle that has Bucky snorting and swatting at his chest.

“Sure,” Bucky says, and before he can continue Steve’s standing, lifting Bucky’s smaller frame and tossing him over his shoulder to let Steve carry him off through the apartment to peals of laughter and small fists hitting at his back while Bucky kicks his feet.

As he tosses Bucky down onto the mattress and watches his slight frame bounce and listens to the happy protests Bucky makes, watches the way his whole body shakes with laughter, he thinks that this is possibly the best birthday he’s ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> A quick little thing for everyone's favorite Captain's birthday. Title is from National Anthem by Lana Del Rey. Not betaed, all mistakes are my own. Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Come find me on [tumblr!](http://witchyturneywrites.tumblr.com)


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